


To Be, or Not To Be

by Marwana



Series: Falling and Rising [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:16:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2922782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marwana/pseuds/Marwana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'By the Grace of...' They had all abandoned him after they had discovered that he had been sired by a demon and not by James Potter, leaving him in the hands of the demon and Voldemort. They believed him to be broken, but he would show them, he would show everyone, that that was not the case. Because being proven wrong meant the loss of his humanity and his morals. And he wasn't willing to lose those.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: not mine  
> Warnings: angst

“I collected your mail for your, my little demon,” his _butler_ purred from behind him, “I suggest you read them _before_ you go back to your sulking.”  
“I do not sulk,” he muttered childishly, “I’m thinking.”  
“Of course you are,” the demon murmured patronisingly.  
  
It had been two weeks since he had moved in with Voldemort and he had refused to see the snake-like man ever since he had been forced to accept his _hospitality_.  
  
The room he had been given was nice – far nicer than he had when he had still lived with the Dursleys – with a large bed, a nice desk with different inks and quills and a lot of parchment, a book case filled with both his own schoolbooks and a couple of other books he should read according to Voldemort and a closet filled with clothes ranging from muggle sportswear to wizarding formal wear.  
The only thing he ever wore, however, were still Dudley’s cast-offs. More out of a statement towards Voldemort than that he actually _liked_ wearing them.  
  
The colours decorating the chamber were pale blues, greens and reds, with darker browns and reds for the furniture. In fact, most of the furniture was made out of the darker cherry wood. That was what the demon following him around had told him at least.  
The room also counted two large, French windows and a door leading to a small balcony.  
Both windows had large, low window sills with large, dark blue, soft pillows. The left window sill was his favourite place in the room as it had a nice view on the garden.  
On the balcony stood two wooden chairs and a small table large enough for a tea-set.  
  
All in all, it was an opulent, richly decorated room specially created with him in mind. He was quite sure that if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t a Slytherin and that he had made quite sure that he was completely against Voldemort, the room would have been heavily decorated in green and silver and that snakes would have been the most important motive found.  
Now, there was no single snake present and some of his favourite colours decorated the room.  
  
But he would never see the room as _his_ , he had sworn that much when he had first moved into the house.  
  
“Now, after you’ve read your mail I suggest you start on your homework,” the being told him sternly, “unless you want to start on it now?”  
“I’ll read the mail first,” he finally grumbled as he removed himself from his comfortable window sill and walked towards the desk. He had made the mistake of dismissing the demon’s words last year in favour of playing Quidditch with his now former friends. The demon had made quite sure what he had thought of him ignoring his _command_ by adding something in his tea which had forced him to spend quite some time sick in bed. In the end he hadn’t managed to finish his homework on time which had seen him end up with a week of detentions. That had been the last time he had ignored the blasted creature’s words or suggestions concerning his coursework.  
  
“Whom are they from?” he asked sullenly.  
“One from Gringotts, one from Lord and Lady Malfoy and one from Sirius Black,” the demon listed as he paged through the small pile of letters.  
  
“Sirius? He wrote me a letter?” Harry asked as he perked up. The demon opened it and handed him the letter inside.  
  
 _‘Harry,  
As you might have guessed Hermione and Ron told me about what happened at Hogwarts. About the demon following you around, the fact that you agreed to become Voldemort’s apprentice and the death of your muggle family.  
I’m disappointed Pro-. No, you aren’t him anymore. I could live with the fact that you aren’t James’ son. If Lily had been raped and Prongs could have accepted you as his own regardless of the fact that you  weren’t, I could have dealt with that. But I can’t deal with a demon or Voldemort. How could you have chosen for their side? After he murdered your family?  
And how can you stand that demon. It’s a demon, Harry, a demon! How can you- By Merlin, the stories alone should have-  
And Voldemort. My little brother- My family- Your family-  
I can’t-  
I’m sorry but I’ve to ask you not to contact me. I simply can’t deal with this. Not after-  
Don’t try to contact Remus either. He will not answer any letters. None of us will, not after your decision to follow the man we have been trying to oppose for decades.  
Sirius’_  
  
He dropped the crumbled piece of parchment on his desk, his mind numb as he reread what he had just read.  
He felt his heart break and it hurt, it hurt him more than even the betrayal of his friends had hurt him. Maybe because they had betrayed him again? First by leaving him and now by making _Sirius_ leave him.  
  
Or maybe because the betrayal of his friends was still so fresh and he had yet to build a wall around his heart against the hurtful words that were thrown at him by some of his former friends and their actions towards him.  
He would have, eventually, but it would have taken time. Time they hadn’t cared to give him.  
He was already down, and now they had delivered the last kick that made him lose whatever fire to fight against Voldemort he had managed to keep. What use was fighting if you had nothing to fight for?   
  
He had lost his parents, first because Voldemort had murdered them and now because of the discovery that James Potter might not have been his father and Lily Potter might have been raped. Besides his parents, he had lost the only friends he had ever made. Two of which had been his _best_ friends. The same friends whom he had expected to stand by him no matter what. He would have stayed loyal to them even if _they_ had been the one with the demon parent.  
He had also lost the last members of his family and even though he knew that they had hated him they had still been _family_. Family had been everything to him.  
And now he had lost the last adult whom had cared for him. Sirius Black had been everything to him ever since he had discovered that he had been his father’s – _James_ – best friend.  
  
He had debated for the last couple of weeks about what he should write him. _If_ he should write him, even. In the end, he had thrown away more parchment in his attempt to write a letter to his godfather than he had ever wasted on his essays.  
  
Tears stung in his eyes and the parchment in front of him became blurry.  
“My little demon?” the demon behind asked gently as he carefully took the piece of parchment from his desk, “are you alright?”  
“I- I’m fine,” he hiccupped softly, “please, ca- can you leave me for a bit?”   
The demon studied his face briefly before he nodded curtly.  
“I’ll be back in about half an hour with tea and the raspberry pie I made before the letters arrived,” he told him.  
  
The soft footsteps and the equally soft opening and closing of his door signalled his leaving.  
  
A soft sob escaped his lips not long after the demon had left him. Why couldn’t Sirius have asked him about _his_ side of the story? And why did he think that he would ever _join_ Voldemort willingly? The man had _murdered_ his parents. The fact that the demon _might be_ his father didn’t change that!  
  
Another sob – louder this time – wracked his body.  
He had believed that _Sirius_ at least would have listened to him. He of all people should know how it felt to have a family you didn’t like and want.  
  
And just like that, the dam broke. Tears streamed along his cheeks and sobs shook his body.  
He rested his head in his hands as he slumped forward.  
  
He sobbed harder as he realised that he hadn’t _only_ lost the last link to his parents, he had also lost the last link to the side that opposed Voldemort _and_ the last person that had cared for _him_ and not for the Boy-Who-Lived or the saviour.  
  
His traitorous mind suddenly brought some part of the letters back to the front. Parts about how Sirius didn’t see him as _Prongslet_ anymore. The part where Sirius had asked him not to contact him, at all. The part where he had written that he could have dealt with the fact that James Potter wasn’t his father hurt as well. Did that mean that he had only wanted him because of his father? And now that they weren’t related anymore, he suddenly didn’t care?  
  
It broke his already broken heart even more. No, it shattered whatever was left of his heart completely. He was truly alone now, even more than _before_ he had even started Hogwarts.  
  
Empty eyes looked up from the pillow he had pressed to his chest and head – and how he had ended upon his bed he couldn’t remember – as the door opened softly.  
He knew that his eyes would probably be red from the fact that he had, apparently, cried for almost half an hour. And he also knew that he probably looked like a right mess.  
He was even dimly aware that the way he looked and the letter the demon had taken with him might mean the end of Sirius but he wasn’t aware enough on the moment to truly care.  
  
He stared listlessly as the butler entered his room with a small cart. The smell of tea and fresh pie hit his nose but the tea reminded him of Grimmauld Place and the pie reminded him of the Dursleys.  
It reminded him too much of better times, though he didn’t count the last one as ‘better’. It was just familiar.  
  
The demon stopped short the moment he had entered his room and amber red eyes zoomed in on the wet shirt and pillow, the red puffy eyes and the tear streaks on his face almost immediately.  
He left the cart where it stood and made his way over towards him.  
  
“My poor little demon,” he whispered softly but Harry could hear even in his numbed and deadened state that the emotion behind the tone was everything but pity or sympathy, “don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’ll be alright.”  
He carefully petted his hair.  
“Everything will be fine,” he cooed, “I’ll take care of it. He will not bother you again.”  
He gently removed his glasses and just as gently manhandled him until he was laying down.  
“Everything will be fine,” he repeated as he carded his hand through his hair, “you’ll see!”  
  
It didn’t take long before he had fallen asleep; the gentle coos of the demon and the careful petting combined with his tiredness of having his heart once again broken was too much for him.  
  
He never even noticed the bright, glowing, slit eyes that promised death and torture, the dark smirk and the dangerously bared teeth that were more commonly seen on cornered animals and the sudden appearance of sharp claws as he succumbed to the dream realm his broken heart needed.  
  
 **oOoOoOo**  
  
“How is he?” the current Dark Lord asked him as soon as he entered the room.  
“Broken,” he answered him emotionlessly.  
“Who would have thought that _Black_ would be the straw that broke the camel’s back,” the snake-like being mussed out loud, “and all it took was a single, simple idea planted into the unprotected mind of _one_ insignificant little girl.”  
  
He turned serious not long after, “what are you going to do about him? About Black?”  
He just raised an elegant black eyebrow.  
The Dark Lord just looked back before he finally caved in, “he hurt your precious little demon. Shouldn’t you bath him in hellfire?”  
The words ‘ _precious little demon_ ’ were stated mockingly and he narrowed his eyes warningly at the human.  
“Watch your tone, mortal,” he stated darkly, “I can easily find my amusement elsewhere.”   
The man nodded curtly.  
  
“I’ll leave him for now,” he told him before he bared his teeth into a dark, pleased smirk, “after all, my _precious_ little demon will need some _nourishment_ as soon as he has matured. And I doubt _you_ would offer yourself as his first _real_ food.”  
The man shuddered slightly at his words.  
  
Dark laughter rang from the room not long after.  
  
 **oOoOoOo**  
  
He knew that they saw him as broken, it was clear in the pleased gleam in their eyes as they looked at him and the almost patronising way they spoke to him if Si- _he_ was mentioned.  
But he wasn’t broken, he _wasn’t_!  
  
It had hurt him, of course it had, but he was still determined to fight back. He wouldn’t let either Voldemort _or_ the demon win. He couldn’t if he wanted to keep his morals and stay human.  
  
They might not know it – or they just didn’t care – but their plans for him were quite clear. The demon wanted him to become like him: a bloodthirsty being that saw humans as nothing more than means of entertainment and food.  
Voldemort on the other hand wanted two things: he wanted him to become the perfect little heir – dark, malicious and without morals and scrupulous – and for him to become a demon bound to only him.  
  
On the moment the two were working together, but it shouldn’t be too hard to make them fight each other. All he had to do was play it right.  
  
And once they had started to fight their attention on him would lessen, which would give him the chance to escape from Voldemort’s house and into the muggle world.  
With a bit of luck the demon would be too busy with Voldemort to search for him.  
  
He would show them that he wasn’t _broken_.  
  
Unknown to him an almost insane but determined glint had appeared in his eyes, a glint observed by the very beings he would be trying to pitch against each other.  
He absently noticed the two sharing glances but read nothing in it.  
  
However, he didn’t notice the satisfied gleam in their eyes, nor did he notice the smirks exchanged.


	2. Graduating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the rights.

**Graduating**

**oOoOoOo**

It had taken him months to plan it; months in which he had to act like the good little apprentice who learned everything Voldemort and the demon wanted him to learn. Months in which he had looked up every change the muggle world had gone through ever since he had started Hogwarts. And months in which he had searched for multiple excuses so the demon would leave him alone.

His current excuse to be left alone was one both parties – meaning Voldemort and the being always following him around – seemed to both enjoy if the gleaming, satisfied eyes were any indication and take it as a sign that he was ready for the next step of their plan. Whatever that may be.

As long as it didn’t clash with his own plans he didn’t care to think too hard about it. Most things he had learned from them was either a large amount of spells – both light and horribly dark – and how to act indifferent to everyone around him courtesy of Voldemort or to act like the heir of a noble house courtesy of the slightly out-dated ideas of the demon.

But his idea to have the demon find Pettigrew for him was the best one he had had yet. The rat was very good in hiding so the demon seemed to have some problem with finding him – that or the traitor had finally been eaten by Voldemort’s snake – and if the creature did manage to find him? Well, he was sure that the Ministry would be delighted to know that he was not quite as dead as they still believed him to be.

The fact that it kept not only the demon but also _Voldemort_ of his back was just an added bonus.  
It gave him more time to prepare for his plan, one that he had been toying with long before he had even known Hogwarts – and magic – existed: running away.  
The fact that he now had access to money only made it easier. It gave him the opportunity to leave England all together. Because he was aware that staying on the Isles would only mean that they would find him shortly after he had left.

His safest bet was moving somewhere far enough away that it would take a long enough time for him to prepare for their arrival so he could move away again on time and close enough that they wouldn’t think to search for him there.

Luckily, he just needed to fine tune the last aspects of his plan – practice the spells that would help him speak the local language and give him the local accent, change his looks just enough that people wouldn’t recognize him at the first and hopefully second, third, fourth or even fifth glance and the ones that helped hid his scent enough that the demon wouldn’t find him that way – and wait until he knew that he had managed to get enough NEWTs that they couldn’t arrest him for using magic without being licensed or some such excuse to get him back.

So all he could do now was wait and practice and act like nothing was wrong. And hope everything would work out.

**oOo**

He wanted to curse up a storm not two days later as the demon dumped a small metal cage containing a single squeaking rat missing one of its’ paws on top of his homework; a proud, dark grin on his face. He would have compared him to either a dog with a wagging tale fishing for compliments or a particularly pleased cat who managed to catch the canary. Or the rat, in this case.

“What are you going to do with him?” the creature asked him, his head cocked sideways in curiosity.  
“I’m going to hand him over to the Ministry,” he answered absent-minded. The fact that the demon had caught Pettigrew meant that he needed to come up with yet _another_ task, preferable one that could take up a lot of attention. He was slowly running out of both ideas and options.

“Do you think Voldemort would teach me how to apparate if I were to ask him?” he asked the being next to him curious, even as he studied the rat. The moment he said it, he realised that it actually _was_ a good idea. Not only did it mean he would learn how to move from one place to another rather quickly, it would also mean that he could disappear to some place to  ‘practice’ his apparating.  
“Why would you need to learn?” the infuriating demon asked him with a glint on his eyes, “I could take you anywhere you want to go. You would just have to ask.”

“Isn’t it mandatory?” he tried mulishly, “and wouldn’t it be easier for me just to learn? You can’t always be there.”  
The demon’s reddish-amber coloured eyes turned into their hellish red counterparts and his pupils turned into elongated slits. He gulped as his heart started to race with fright.  
“I’ll always _be there_ ,” the creature spat out through bared teeth, “it is my task to look after your health and happiness. As long as you are a _child_ you’ll be spoiled and doted upon.”   
He sounded as if he was quoting someone.  
“But I’m 17-,” he managed to get out before the demon interrupted him with narrowed eyes.  
“Right until the day you cease to be a child in _my_ eyes!”  he growled.

“Er, right,” he stated utterly flabbergasted. He rather not find out what the demon deemed a fit punishment if his current behaviour fell under ‘spoiling’.  
“In that case, may I have some hot chocolate?” he asked hesitantly.  
The demon’s eyes turned back to their normal form and colour just as fast as they had changed and a pleased, close-mouthed smile appeared on his lips.  
“I’ll bring it to you shortly,” he told him with a light bow before he left.

He sagged back into his chair, completely drained and terribly confused with the events from a couple of minutes ago. Who would have guessed that demons had mood swings.   
A soft, panicked squeak turned his attention onto the rat still captured in its cage.  
“Well, at least Sirius will be happy to know that he’ll finally be free,” he stated almost mournfully, “but what to use now?”

**oOo**

It was almost a month and a half later that he finally heard if he managed to gain enough NEWTs to execute his plan. As far as he believed, he had managed to get at least A’s in everything though he suspected that he had managed to gain far higher. But getting A’s was all he cared for because it meant that he could finally be _free_.

His hands shook as he carefully opened the envelop the demon had handed him, but neither the nerves nor the presence of Voldemort, the demon and strangely enough the elder Malfoy male stopped him from removing the letter inside. He unfolded it as quick as he could without tearing it, only to sink back into his chair as he realised that _yes_ , he managed to gain enough NEWTs to graduate. And that was all that mattered to him.

In his relief, he didn’t notice the demon taking the letter from him nor did he notice it as he handed it to Voldemort so he could see his results. Neither did he notice the looks the dark lord exchanged with the blond lord.  
He, however, did notice the clearing of a throat.

“Well, done,” Voldemort stated softly, a slight hint of satisfaction colouring his words, “it seems you ended in the top 5 of highest NEWTs of your year.”  
He scowled darkly at the floor at those words. The only reason _why_ he was in the top 5 – something he had missed when he had glanced at the paper and didn’t particularly care about – was because the time he would have normally spent with his friends had now be spent with either Voldemort or the demon studying, in the library reading or outside flying with Hedwig. In that order.

“It seems a celebration is in order,” Voldemort continued – seemingly unaware of his thoughts – before he added with dark humour in his tone of voice, “I’ve cleared your evening so you can _enjoy_ yourself.”  
His scowl became more pronounced but he nodded sharply at the snake-man hybrid before he hoisted himself out of his chair and left the office, the demon closely behind him.

While the dig at his lack of friends had hurt, having the night off meant that he could pack the stuff he would need or miss most. It also made sneaking of easier. At least, it would be easier if he could get rid of a certain demon whom had gotten more and more amused with his excuses to get some time alone. Maybe he could ask for that odd gigantic cake again. It had taken the demon at least two hours to make it the last time he had asked for a piece.

**oOo**

He gasped desperately for breath, both from having to run for far longer than ever before and from sheer, delirious happiness. He had done it. He had gotten away from Hogwarts without at least Voldemort knowing.

He collapsed facedown onto the bed he had rented on the last boat to the continent of the day. His plan had been rather simple. He had sent a letter with Hedwig to ask the goblins for a couple of portkeys – for a reasonable price, of course. The first couple of portkeys had been traceable and had caused him to hop from random town to random town. The second bunch of portkeys had not been as traceable as the first – because completely untraceable portkeys didn’t exist – but they too had caused him to move from random town to random town. He had started out with only one portkey and in every new town he had appeared in the next portkey had been within reach. The last portkey – once again as untraceable as it could be – had dropped him off near the docks in Newcastle just in time for him to catch the boat.

Tomorrow, once he woke up he would know if all the money, time and trouble he had invested had been worth it.

**oOoOoOo**

Potter had disappeared just after the results of their NEWT exams had been handed to them and he couldn’t be happier. Because, oddly enough, the demon was still at Hogwarts. No one knew what had happened to him but most rumours went towards him having died in some way. Some said his NEWT results had been so bad the Dark Lord himself had finally killed him. Others stated that he had made a pact with the demon and the creature had eaten his soul. When asked why the being was still around they always pointed towards their Lord and his still visible scars. The third most popular option suggested had been that he had finally done the decent thing and had jumped of the Astronomy Tower. Personally, he didn’t care as long as the blasted Gryffindor stayed either dead or away. Preferably the first.

Because he finally had a change to convince the demon to serve _him_. Just like his late godfather, he had studied every book on demons he could get his hands on. And the fact that the servant was a demon explained most of the man’s, no _creature_ ’s behaviour. The perfection, the dedication, the pride, the darkness, the _violence_. And – unlike Potter – he would appreciate it all. But it didn’t explain the sheer _care_ , protectiveness and possessiveness the demon showed for the brat. And he didn’t care about that, as long as it was all transferred onto him.

Two weeks after Potter had disappeared and a week before the graduation ceremony, the demon vanished from Hogwarts. His mood turned from elated to downright horrid in just a couple of seconds after he had noticed the disappearance of _his_ would-be servant. And with an angry, spiteful hiss not unlike the mascot of his House he vowed to take something dear away from the blasted Potter boy, just to show him how it felt to have something that rightfully belongs to you – even if it did not know that it belonged to you – taken away from you.

**oOoOoOo**

It had been about two weeks that he had left Hogwarts – and the British Isles – and he couldn’t help but feel nervous.  Because unlike what he had expected, he had seen hide nor hair of a certain demon. A certain demon whom had claimed nearly two months ago that he would always be near him.

The plan so far had worked just the way he had meant to make it work. He had sat foot in France a little over twelve hours after the boat had taken off. From there he had travelled sometimes by bus, sometimes by train and sometimes by foot through Belgium and the Netherlands into Germany. It had taken him about a week to reach Berlin from where he had started in France. From Berlin he had travelled further until he had reached Athens, the city he was staying in on the moment.

The city was large and ancient and it was both easy to disappear in a crowd or to lose oneself in the many streets and alleyways it contained. And while the ruins were spectacular and the food was nice, the city had nothing on the much younger city of London. He could easily admit that he missed the capital city of the country he had always called his home. He missed the language, he missed the busses and the trains, he missed the less seasoned food and he missed the maps placed on every corner.

He had already gotten lost three times in the many winding streets of Athens on a single day, so it didn’t surprise him as he managed to get lost a fourth time. He sighed in annoyance as he once again went around a corner to find himself once again facing yet another crossing he hadn’t seen before.  
It also didn’t surprise him as it started to slowly turn dark and he still hadn’t manage to discover where he was what felt like hours later.

He knew that he could have used his magic to find the way back to his hostel – hotels were too open and too obvious for his taste – but he had decided when he had left Scotland that he would only use magic if he had no other choice. Magic could, after all, be traced and he really didn’t want to be found.  
So far, he only had to use his magic twice beyond the recasting of the language and accent spells and the charm to change his appearance. Once near the border of France and Belgium when someone had tried to steal his trunk from his pocket and the second time Berlin to hide Hedwig from the local authority.

The fluttering of wings sounded as Hedwig appeared and landed on his shoulder, her beak mercifully empty of any letters or the mice she tried to feed him. She was his only companion now, and – while he missed his friends dearly – he was happy she was there with him.

He gently stroked her feathers with a single hand only to be rebuked as she flew up and landed on his still slightly elevated hand. He shook his head in amusement before he lifted his other hand and gently scratched the path of feathers between her eyes. She gave a growl-hiss of satisfaction at the feeling and he laughed fondly at the sound.

He was so preoccupied with his owl and the peaceful moment they shared for the first time in what felt like months that he didn’t notice the thugs approaching him until he felt something hard and unyielding hit his head.

Hedwig flew up with a loud screech that hurt his already ringing head as the blow forced him to fall forwards and against the ground. He tried to get up again but another hit made him cry out and collapse back onto the ground. The last thing he saw was the quick darkening of his surroundings – though that could have been caused by the multiple blows to his head – and two hellish eyes glowing from the shadows.

**oOo**

He woke to soft, menacing voices and dark, malicious words stated in dangerous tones.  
He didn’t move and he kept his breath as even as he could as he wasn’t willing to gain the attention of the two males facing of.

“You need me and you know it,” the high, cold voice of Voldemort stated furiously from somewhere on his left.  
“Do not assume that you’re indispensable,” was stated darkly amused by what he recognized as the demon following him everywhere, “remember, you might offer a means to an end but I’ve time and he is nearly on the wanted pathway with no return.”  
He felt shivers racing over his body. It was clear that they were talking about him and it frightened him to know that he was doing exactly what the demon wanted him to do.

“I’ll not let you stop me like you did last time,” Voldemort snarled lowly, “I haven’t come this far to let you take it all away!”  
“Heed my warning, it _is_ your last one” the demon stated pointedly and he could almost imagine the odd tilt of his head and the teeth bared in a dangerous fang-filled smile, “and not even the fact that you managed to tear your very soul into pieces kept outside of the husk you call a body will keep you safe.”

Silence fell between the two dominant personalities but it wasn’t the type of silence one could enjoy. It was oppressive, dark and filled heavily with dangerous undertone.  
“You are only alive at this point because your very existence helps to speed up his maturing,” the creature continued maliciously, “and your continued existence is dependent on his very humanity. I suggest you consider your next step very carefully, in case you lose sight of that.”

Voldemort _snarled_ – actually _snarled_ – audible but didn’t react with otherwise. No threats were uttered by him, no smooth words to placate the probably literally ruffled feathers left his mouth and no spells were flung. He just stayed stubbornly silent.

“This is no alliance,” the demon deadpanned dryly but the dark amusement was back, “you need me more than I need you and the moment I’ve no need for what your very existence means to my little demon said existence will end.”  
He didn’t need to see the demon to know that creature’s eyes were glowing a hellish red.

“Consider this to be ‘check’,” the being purred darkly as the caw of a crow sounded loudly, “it is your move.”


	3. That's the question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: as always, I don't own the rights.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: gore, torture and death of an animal, hints towards suicide.

Life after graduating didn’t change as much as he had envisioned once upon a time. He didn’t have a sweetheart, nor did he move into a small flat with her as he had believed he would. He was also not recruited for either a Quidditch team, nor was he allowed to enter the auror training.  
In fact, he still lived in Hogwarts, he was still taught by teachers (though they were private teachers now), he was still served, dressed, fed and followed around by a demon butler and he was still the apprentice to Voldemort.

But some, small, things had changed. He no longer had any lessons with either Voldemort or the demon. Instead, Lucius Malfoy taught him three days a week, two times a week he was made to join the practical auror training and one day a week he was made to follow a Ministry worker (always a different one, working at a different department) around. Malfoy mostly taught him about how he should behave and act in different situations, manners, culture, how to act like as diplomatic as possible and other things, odds and ends the demon had started teaching him. He wouldn’t have minded it too much, were it not for the fact that a) he didn’t particularly care for what he was taught and b) the haughty, arrogant and holier-than-thou way Malfoy treated him.

The seventh and last day of the week was spent as before: either flying around with Hedwig flying right next to him or hanging around in front of the fire stubbornly _not_ thinking about how much he wished for the life he had always envisioned.

But life went on and, as with everything he had thrown at him, he just kept going.

And that method worked quite well for some time. The aurors and the auror trainees might not like him, but the presence of the demon kept them from acting upon their dislike. So he learned more and more each day and he kept getting up every time he was forced onto the ground by spell fired at him until they no longer could force him onto the ground.  
He ignored Malfoy’s attitude the same way he had always ignored the Dursley’s attitude and he learned. He might not be Hermione, but he was far from stupid. Not that he was thinking about _her_.

So he learned everything they taught him (and a little more besides that), he kept his head down and he kept his mouth firmly shut. And he kept existing the way he wanted to exist: not arrogant and haughty like Malfoy sr., not cruel and harsh like Voldemort and not twisted and evil like the demon.

Not even once did he slip back into the deep, dark pit he had fallen into just a couple of years ago. He had Hedwig to thank for that.

**oOo**

It was spring – just about nine months after his semi-successful escape attempt – that the last pillar keeping him aloft and _sane_ was taken away from him.

Hogwarts had been taken over for the weekend by foreign dignitaries who had wanted to see the well-being of the wizarding children of Great Britain – apparently a good treatment of children meant more allies for Voldemort – so Voldemort had invited them to stay there during the negotiations. He had been more than welcome to join them – in fact, Voldemort had all but ordered him to stay – but he had taken the half-hearted given offer to spend the weekend at Malfoy Manor.

He had joined the dinner he had been ordered to join, but he wanted to spend his one free day a week flying around with Hedwig as the rains from the last couple of weeks had made that impossible up until that weekend.

And he had been enjoying himself – as had Hedwig if her dives and hoots had been any indication – right up until Malfoy junior and goons appeared. While it might be the property of his forefathers he had been told that the littlest Malfoy rarely spent time at home due to the fact that he was off to the magical version of university somewhere in France or Spain (he couldn’t quite remember, nor did he truly care).

So the appearance of the three Slytherins who had made his life rather unpleasant when he had been in Hogwarts was not something he enjoyed, but he was more than willing to ignore them in favour of flying around.

And they seemed just as willing to let him be – and he had nearly forgotten about them once again – when the bright red light he recognized as a stunner flew past him and hit Hedwig. She plummeted down with all the grace of a stone.

“Hedwig!” he exclaimed shocked and he dove right after her, only to get hit by an unknown curse which chained him into place about half a metre from the ground. He watched helplessly as Hedwig hit the ground right in front of him. He didn’t even notice as his beloved Firebolt was snapped in half as a laughing Crabbe stepped on top of it.

He had brought his wand – he was never safe, after all – but he had no way to reach it and Malfoy must have gotten smarter or more experienced because he ordered his goons to remove his wand from where he had placed it. It didn’t take them long to find it – he had placed it inside a holster in his right sleeve – and it quickly disappeared into Malfoy’s pocket.

There was nothing he could do as one of the goons picked Hedwig up by her right wing after an order from his school rival. The unknown spell was cast too well and his knowledge and experience with wandlessly escaping from magic like said unknown spell was by far not enough.

“You should feel honoured,” the blonde drawled as he studied Hedwig disdainfully, “it has taken me months to find _and_ learn the spell currently holding you in place.”  
He poked harshly at Hedwig with his wand and watched in satisfaction as some of her wing feathers came loose and floated towards the ground lazily as the brute holding her up was forced to drop her. He turned his attention towards him.

“It _is_ a rather nifty piece of magic,” he continued as he studied him, “you can’t move but you can still feel, hear and see everything and you can’t talk but you can still make noise. Though I do suggest you refrain from screaming, there is no one present at the moment.”  
He cast a mild stinging charm at him which he barely felt and he stared at him in confusion and dread.  
  
Malfoy twirled his wand between his fingers not dissimilar to how Voldemort did it when he was bored.  
“I considered hurting you beyond your wildest dream for what you have done to me,” he stated sharply as he abruptly stopped moving his wand and pointed it at his face, “but our Lord would not hesitate to hurt me in return. So I had to think of something else.”

He turned back towards Hedwig who was quickly picked up again.  
“You are rather fond of that owl of yours,” he stated with an ugly smirk, “it would be a shame if she were to get _hurt_ , don’t you think?”  
“ _Sectumsempra_!” he hissed sharply and Harry watched horrified as a large gash appeared in Hedwig’s chest and blood started to drip down until a small pool appeared underneath her form.  
He struggled against the magic holding in place but nothing happened.

“That seems a little too shallow, don’t you think?” he asked one of his goons, “Goyle, take the other wing and hold it aloft!”  
The other goon did as he was told and together they held her up. Malfoy revived her with a lazy flick of his wand.  
Hedwig screeched loudly as she attempted to beat her wings but the grip both Crabbe and Goyle had on her wings was too strong.

“You took away _my_ place as apprentice with the Dark Lord,” Malfoy sneered as he caused a shallow wound to appear on her right wing. Hedwig screeched again.  
“You took away _my_ place as student and apprentice to my own _father_ ,” he snarled as another cut appeared on her chest. He silenced her midway into her screech with a rub to his ear and a sharp flick of his wand.  
“You took away _my godfather_ and the apprenticeship I was owed,” he bit out and with a flick of his wand and a sharp ‘ _Sectumsempra_ ’ another, deeper cut appeared in her left wing.  
“And you took away _my_ servant,” he finished with a last flick if his wand which caused Hedwig to lose the upperpart of her right wing. Crabbe quickly grabbed the lowed part of her wing to keep her aloft, even as her blood liberally coated his hands.

Harry – who had been struggling against the magic since the beginning – saw the dark shape of the being always following him around through tear filled eyes and he turned pleading eyes towards him.  
But the creature just stayed where he was, at the periphery of his vision and he didn’t move to either help him or Hedwig.

He turned his attention back towards Hedwig and tuned Malfoy’s taunts and complaints about everything he believed he was owed out. He kept his eyes on nothing else but Hedwig’s eyes and every time she was hit with the spell something inside him broke a little more until it wasn’t pain and horror clouding his mind but sheer, burning anger.

The same type of anger that had haunted him during a mayor part of his fifth year suddenly made it reappearance with a vengeance and everything _shifted_ inside of him. His vision narrowed until all he could see was the malicious, gleeful face of Malfoy _who was hurting his first and only friend_.

Everything happened in a blur and the next thing he knew he was free of the magic and he was bend protectively over a heavily bleeding, weakly cooing Hedwig. He didn’t notice the tears that wandered down his cheeks nor did he notice the blood that stained his hands, trousers and robe. He also didn’t notice the pain filled groans of those around him, the cracks of apparition or the satisfied gleam in the demon’s eyes. All he noticed was the gentle light that had always filled Hedwig’s eyes slowly bleed away as more blood left her body.

She died in his arms not even a minute after he had managed to rescue her and all he could do was grieve over her dead body. He snarled at someone as they tried to remove her from his grasp and he was left alone after that.

Alone to mourn the passing of his first, dearest and last friend and his last companion.

Alone to grieve for the loss of the one being that had for _him_.

He was once again, truly alone in a large, grim world and he mourned for what could have been.

**oOo**

It took about a week – a week in which he had walked around in a grey filled world – before the first clues and memories of what he had done during that day came back to him.

The first clue was a short article in the _Daily Prophet_ which stated that Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had gotten hurt during a short, one-sided fight with an escaped and dangerous creature. They had sustained rather nasty wounds – Malfoy junior had lost his right eye, had gained a set of five scars over said lost eye and had broken nearly all the bones in his wand-hand, Crabbe had lost his left hand as they had been forced to amputate it completely and had lost part of his right ear and Goyle had lost three fingers on his right hand, had several broken ribs, a broken left leg and had gained two nasty scars on his left cheek.  
The creature, of course, had been executed.  
The date of the unfortunate fight: the day they had _murdered_ his beloved owl.

He had thought much about that article except for an almost sick sense of satisfaction he had quickly pushed away. He didn’t want to feel grateful for or gleeful  over the hurt of others – especially if they had gained wounds as bad as they had gained – se he tried as hard as he could to forget about their accident.

The second clue was actually a vague dream he had a couple of days after the death of his beloved owl. The only things he remembered from that dream was the sheer anger he had felt and the satisfaction if feeling bone break and flesh give way to sharp nails.  
He was horrified by the dream and, as he had done with the article, pushed the information he had gained away.

The third clue was the behaviour of others towards him. Malfoy senior was no longer willing to teach him for reasons he was not willing to state, but every time he saw him after that day his face turned paler than his normal already pale pallor and he would walk away as fast as dignity would allow him. He didn’t exactly mourn the loss of those lessons, nor did he mourn the fact that he would no longer be forced to interact with the man.

The other person’s behaviour that changed was that of the demon. He mostly acted the same way as he always had; degradingly and as if he was a child. But something in his behaviour _changed_ after that day. It was hard to describe for him, but he seemed almost _satisfied_ with something he had done. Almost _proud_. And something very, very possessive.

And the being never left him alone. Before, he would have left to do whatever it was he did when he was around him, but after Hedwig’s murder he followed him everywhere. To the auror training, to his lessons with Voldemort (he had been forced to take over his lessons as Malfoy senior refused to teach him), to his tours through the Ministry, to the library and he even followed him if he went to the bathroom.

The fourth clue was something Voldemort told him.  
“We need to work on that temper of yours,” he had stated with a sharp hiss as he had stroked the head of that large snake of his almost roughly, “what happened with the Malfoy boy can’t happen again.”  
“It was not my fault,” he had wanted to protest, or, “why am I the one to blame for his actions?”  
But he had kept his mouth shut.  
Those red eyes had studied him darkly, “I’ll see to it that someone will teach you _occlumency_. Prepare yourself to be ready at nine to meet him next Thursday.”  
He had been dismissed after that.

The fifth clue was not actually a clue. The demon appeared with a large, dark crow – maybe even a raven – six days after the death of Hedwig.  
“His name is Roäc,” he stated as the crow – raven? – had flown from its perch on his shoulder to land on his knee, “he will serve you well.”  
“I don’t want him,” he said duly as he turned his head away.  
“He doesn’t belong to you,” the creature told him sternly even as he started to putter about cleaning up the mess his room had become, “treat him well and he will be the most faithful, loyal and intelligent companion one could wish for.”  
He stalked towards him and bowed over him, one finger pressed to his lips and one eye closed in an odd wink even as he gently stroked the bird’s head. The bird didn’t make a single move, noise or sign of protest, not like Hedwig or any of the other birds or beasts had ever done when the demon had tried to pet them. And that just made him suspicious.

He turned slightly less dull eyes towards the demon, “I’ll not take another bird to replace Hedwig. She was my friend.”  
But the demon just smiled that infuriating catty, closemouthed smile of his before he left him to his sulking with a great, black crow on his knee.

“You attacked them,” the bird croaked, though it took him a while before he realised that it had been the crow – or was it a raven? Could they even speak? – that had spoken.  
“Excuse me?” he stated surprised as he turned his attention back towards the black bird.  
“The ones that attacked your owl,” the crow croaked, “you attacked them.”  
He stared in confusion at the large crow, “I-, it’s a blur.”  
The bird just studied him with obviously intelligent eyes, “You’ll do. we can be allies. We can be partners. We can be friends.”

That night nightmares plagued his mind. The same dream he had had before – the vague one in which he had broken bones and teared at flesh – returned but with more details and more clear than he had ever wanted to. The words of the crow could be heard as he sat there with the blood of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle on his hands and Hedwig’s body in his lap, “you attacked them.”  
He shot up with a rasping gasp, perspiration streaming down his face, his eyes wild and unseeing and the taste of bile in his mouth.   
He couldn’t get the images and moans of the three boys out of his head as _he_ hurt. And he realised that it hadn’t been some creature that had hurt them during a one-sided fight. No, _he_ had hurt and maimed them. He didn’t know how, nor did he want or care to know, all he cared about was that he had hurt someone bad enough to maim them permanently.

Suddenly, everything anyone had ever said about him as a spawn had become the truth: as long as he lived, he would always be capable of hurting someone. And this time, it had just been someone had disliked rather badly. But the next time, the next time it could be Ron, or Hermione, or Sirius.  
And while they might no longer talk to him or care about him, he was not willing to hurt them. Ever.

**oOo**

It took two weeks after that to fully remember what had happened.

He didn’t know how, but his anger had made him capable of breaking the spell Malfoy had cast on him. And he had gone straight for him the moment he had landed on the ground.   
He remembered lashing out at him, his longer-than-normal nails racking over his right cheek as the other youth had screamed in pain. That single attack had taken him out as far as he had been concerned but he still stepped on the hand holding the wand, breaking both said wand and said hand.

He had turned towards the two goons after Malfoy had fallen onto the ground. He remembered digging his elongated nails into the respectively one wrist and a set of fingers holding Hedwig up. They had been forced to let her go. He remembered catching her with his left arm before he had lashed out towards Crabbe. His nails had sliced cleanly through the upperpart of his ear.

Goyle had tried to attack him after his friend had been downed and he had retaliated with out of proportion violence. The nails of his right hand had mostly missed the goon’s cheek so he had kicked out against his leg, easily breaking the left tibia and shattering part of the left fibula.

The former Slytherin’s leg had collapsed underneath him but he had kicked out one last time towards him to make sure he remind on the ground. The cracking sound that could be heard over the pain filled moans as soon as his foot connected with his chest hadn’t even registered as he had sunken down onto the ground, his hands covered with blood and a dying Hedwig in his arms.

**oOo**

The next night found him standing on the edge of the astronomy tower, Roäc on his shoulder.  
It wasn’t that he actually wanted to _die_ , but he couldn’t live with himself if he were to a) ever hurt those he had considered his friends and family and b) turn into the human being – or demon being – the demon and/ or Voldemort wanted him to be. That was something he didn’t want to be.

The ground was a black vastness beneath him. Almost a siren’s call for his darkened thoughts and mood.

And it would be so easy, just to step of the edge and let himself fall towards his own death. Every problem he currently had would no longer matter. And it wasn’t as if he had any loved ones left that would mourn his passing. He might even see his parents again.

It would be so _easy_.

But. It was too easy, too _cowardly_. He turned his eyes towards the stars. Voldemort would still be alive to hurt those _he_ still cared about. And it went against his very morals to let anyone die if he could prevent their deaths. The presence of the demon seemed to make Voldemort decide against slaughtering his former friends and other innocents but the moment _he_ was gone…? The demon would leave and Voldemort wouldn’t hesitate to finish everyone off who stood in his way. Or whom he perceived to stand in his way.

And the demon was once again free to torment others.

No, it would be too easy to let himself fall to his own death.

But if he were to die while taking down the demon, Voldemort or both? Well, there would be no shame in _that_.

A determined, almost unholy light appeared in his eyes. He would take them down, and he knew _exactly_ how to do it. Voldemort probably wouldn’t mind helping him get rid of the demon – especially because it meant he was finally free to murder _him_ – and the demon probably wouldn’t mind helping him take down Voldemort. After all, they were all just a mean to an end.

**oOoOoOo**

He had watched on in satisfaction as _his_ little demon had not only managed to tear apart the magic that had kept him into place, but had also managed to tear straight through three magical human beings in an attempt to get to his _beloved_ owl. His beloved, now very much _dead_ owl.

His eyes had been the most fetching shade of red, too. Not that dull, human shade like that mortal Voldemort was so proud of. No, his little demon’s eyes had been the same hellish colour with the same cat-like quality all demons were proud to show off.

He had ignored the three wounded, pathetic, moaning beings laying near his child in favour of keeping his hungry gaze on his little demon. The boy had just lost the last link to his old life.  
Which meant that it would be far easier to introduce him to a less gentle being. One of his own murder, perhaps?

His child meeting his chosen crow – Roäc might be relatively young but he was intelligent and loyal to a fault – hadn’t gone quite as he had hoped it would go but he had been accepted by the crow and he had seemed at least willing to keep the crow around.

But what truly showed him that his little demon was on the path he wanted him to be were the two sentences consisting of a total of ten words he spoke two days after he had introduced him to Roäc.

“I need your help,” he stated firmly, a determined glint in his eyes. His attention had been caught immediately. Not because of just the short sentence, but also the way he held himself and the tone of voice.  
He made a questioning noise in response.  
“I want to take down Voldemort.”

He cocked his head as he studied his child curiously. The boy was determined and he truly seemed to mean it.  
He bared his sharp fangs in a dark, predatory smirk even as the concealment on his eyes broke until they were slit and glowed a hellish red.  
“You just have to ask,” he purred out even as he stalked forward and bowed down slightly so he was eye to eye with his little demon, “you just have to ask.”

Yes, everything was ready for the last fall of the curtain. He had won.


	4. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the rights.  
> Warnings: Emotional bullying.

They hadn’t seen Harry in years as they hadn’t stayed in touch after they left Hogwarts. Ron has always known deep down that dumping Harry the way they had had been cruel towards his best friend but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. The fear of both the demon _and_ the Dark Lord Voldemort had been too ingrained.  
  
The stories told about demons had always stayed with him, even when Hermione had told him in his second year that they were just mythical creatures created by mankind to make sure people behaved. The book he had showed her hadn’t convinced her otherwise.  
He had believed her – just as he believed the Deathly Hallows to be a fairy tale – but the stories of death, destruction and corruption stayed with him. They were just too ingrained into his memories not too.   
  
So when he found out that the person he believed to be his best friend had a demon for a father he did the only thing he could: he dumped him.  
It was cowardly and he wasn’t proud of it but his mother had always told him anyone from demon blood would have no choice but to become one themselves.  
Though, to be fair, Hermione had been more afraid of the creature when she had discovered that demons actually _did_ exist than he had, even though the thing had scared him to death during their fifth year.  
  
But finally, after almost a decade, he would see the person who used to be his best friend again.  
  
Someone – probably an overeager Hufflepuf – had decided that they needed a reunion of their year as it had been ten years since they had graduated. A lot of people had agreed with him, even some of the Slytherins. You-Know-Who probably had a hand in that.  
  
So that why they had arrived back at Hogwarts ten years after they had left it for the last time. The weather was beautiful; it was warm and sunny, even for an evening. It was all so familiar: the tree near the lake where they used to spend their free time in the spring and the summer, the whomping willow which they had so many fights with, the Forbidden Forest which was still as creepy and dark as ever and the ancient castle itself.  
  
But the most familiar of all were the many people milling around and laughing together.   
He could easily recognize Neville Longbottom and his wife Hannah talking to Seamus Finnigan who appeared to be still as close with Dean Thomas as ever. Parvati Patil and Lavender Bloom were standing once again together, gossiping about someone seated at the table. Blaise Zabini if the skin colour was any indication. The Slytherin was talking to Zacharias Smith, the Chinese Sue Li and an unknown woman whom he believed to be a Hufflepuff in his year.  
Padma Patil stood close by talking to Michael Corner and Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein stood not too far away from them talking with whom he believed to be Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis and Fay Dunbar. They all carried scars of the war, though none was scarred as badly as Lavender.  
  
Standing underneath the gazebo meant to provide shade stood a one-eyed, rather scarred Draco Malfoy with some of the other Death Eater children: Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott and the just as heavily scarred Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. Near them stood Millicent Bulstrode, who was talking to the ever pompous Ernie Macmillan.

He had heard about their run-in with an escaped creature, but he hadn’t thought too much about it. Now that he actually saw the results of their fight with said creature he actually felt pity for them. It was rare in their world that something could maim a wizard or witch permanently and the person or persons who were maimed permanently were always watched with both pity and scorn. He couldn’t help but wonder just what kind of creature they had managed to anger enough that it had injured them the way they had been wounded and maimed.  
  
His mind froze as his eyes fell on the next group of persons not too far away from the gazebo. Because standing next to a still snake-like You-Know-Who and the ever sly Lucius Malfoy stood the very person whom he had considered to be his best friend for five years. The same person he had dumped rather cruelly some twelve years ago after he had discovered that he wasn’t the son of James Potter.  
Hermione noticed his somewhat frozen state of mind and she followed his gaze curiously, only to gasp softly as she noticed whom he had spotted.  
Her gasp shook him from his stupor.  
  
“He has changed,” she whispered softly. He just grunted in agreement.  
Because Harry Potter _had_ changed.  
  
His once unruly, messy hair was now longer than before and not as messy as it used to be. His face had turned sharper and somehow more elegant and refined, but that might have been caused by the fact that he no longer carried the Potter genes. Though he had no idea what that even meant.  
  
His clothing was elegant and clearly expensive; the dress pants seemed to be black silk and the dress shirt was a dark green and clearly made from the same material. The only reason he recognized the silk was because Hermione seemed to adore the stuff.  
Harry’s shoes were made from expensive leather from a creature he couldn’t name. His tie – an emerald green one that appeared to match his eyes – was held together by a silver tiepin decorated with some motive he couldn’t see from the distance.  
His cloak – in the same colour as his tie – was held neatly by the demon whom had sired him.

All in all, clothing-wise he stood as far away from them as possible. Hermione was dressed nicely in a pale pink summer dress which went nicely with her hair and tan. He himself wore a pair of faded jeans and a thin white dress shirt.   
He suddenly felt cheap and quickly went back to studying his face.  
  
He had gained no wrinkles but he had lost his expressiveness. His eyebrows seemed thinner somehow, which went well with his sharper face.  
The biggest change however was his eyes.   
  
They were still the same green as they used to be but they were no longer hidden by his glasses and the look in them had changed. They appeared older and more distant. Colder even. As if he didn’t care about anyone anymore. There was also a more sly, cunning and cruel look to them, but that didn’t surprise him much with the company he had been keeping.  
And he could see that there was something like sadness and loneliness and something he identified as broken too. He was more closed off, probably in an attempt to protect himself from any more betrayal. But the fierce glint of determination was clearly visible, even to someone like him.  
  
Hermione would have probably told him that any light and happiness had left those eyes and all that had remained was the pain and suffering caused by betrayal and the anger against the world. So those eyes had turned cold and cruel and their owner had turned into a Slytherin to protect himself.

He was, as always, accompanied by either the large crow or a smallish raven that had taken Hedwig’s place. They didn’t quite know what had happened to his once beloved owl, but the _Daily Prophet_ had posted a large article about it in which all the rumours and speculations had been summarized. Some people had claimed that the disappearance of his owl had been the ultimate sign that the once venerated hero had turned dark, especially as she had been replaced by either a crow or a raven which were both birds of ill omens.  He didn’t quite believe that as Harry had loved that owl more than anything. Therefore, the most logical explanation had been that the owl had died of old age. But, while it sounded logical, everyone knew that normal post owls lived until an age of about 15 years while bonded owls had an life expectation of about 25 to 30 years longer than regular owls. And Hedwig had been most certainly a bonded owl.   
  
He turned his attention away from his former friend and studied his companions.  
The devilish being that hid himself as a butler was standing behind his once best friend’s left shoulder as was his norm. _He_ hadn’t changed at all. His uniform was still the same, the look in his eyes as he gazed at his spawn was still the same and the small, pleased smile on his elegant, youthful face was still the same. It would have been creepy if he hadn’t been aware that the creature was in fact a demon and that he had _sired_ the man he was gazing possessively at.  
  
Malfoy on the other hand had changed slightly. He still wore expensive clothing, he still carried a cane around, his eyes were still haughty silver and his hair was still long and neat. But grey had started to streak through the once silvery blonde hair, his skin was less well maintained and his face had gained more wrinkles. He had grown older and with age he had mellowed somewhat, but fear and distaste reached his eyes every time his eyes were forced to fall onto the green-eyed man standing next to him. Though, he sneered just as enthusiastically as ever when he met his eyes.  
  
He quickly averted his eyes to the last person of the small group, though he wished he hadn’t. Slit, red eyes shone menacingly from a pale, gaunt face lacking a nose. His skin was still papery and bluish veins could be seen underneath the pasty white. No hair protected the skull and the normally present hood wasn’t present.  
You-know-who _did_ wear his ever present, great, black cloak though his feet were bare.  
  
Ron just considered himself lucky the pale, bone-shaped wand wasn’t visible as those red eyes turned towards him.  
  
He did gulp however when amused reddish-amber and distant green soon joined the disdainful silvery grey and the menacing red gazes already turned towards them.  
He suddenly wished they hadn’t come.  
  
The Dark Lord spoke softly to his companions – a command perhaps? – before he and Malfoy swiftly made their way over towards them.  
He felt Hermione grasp his hand in both fear and to stop him from reaching for his wand, though she had taken the left hand instead of his right. Being the smarter of the two – something he agreed with readily and easily – she had probably realised that they would never win if they were to draw their wands. He just followed her lead, as he had always done and always would.

“What a pleasant surprise to see the two of you here,” was stated as soon as the duo was within earshot of them. The tone of voice of the speaker – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – was cold and indifferent, but a certain amount of satisfaction was noticeable. He felt Hermione shudder next to him at the predatory look in those eyes and he was quick to avert his own eyes away from the dark wizard in front of him and towards the ground, though he loathed the idea of how submissive he must look to the men in front of him.

“I’ve wanted to thank you for  a while now,” he continued as if nothing had happened, but the satisfaction was more noticeable than it had been, “after all, if it hadn’t been for you Harry wouldn’t be the delightful and obedient heir he is now. Though obedient might not be the right word.”  
Ron’s head snapped back up and he gaped at him.  
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked warily next to him; she had never been able to contain her curiosity.

“Contrary to what everyone thinks or what you have been told, not all _spawns_ turn into demons,” You-Know-Who told them almost pleasantly, “oh, they will always be slightly more cruel and slightly more bloodthirsty than normal human beings but they can live a normal life, they can marry and have normal human children and they can die a normal, human death. Had you stayed true to your _best friend_ that would have most likely been his life, even with the demon fussing over him like some demented mother hen and his past with those despicable muggles he still sees as his relatives.”

Ron’s eyes turned towards his former best friend as he tried to imagine what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had told them. And the worst thing was, he could imagine Harry Potter running around with a small child on his shoulder or lovingly kissing a woman. He could imagine him being happy and cheerful, even with the demon watching over him.

“But you turned your backs on him,” the man twisted the knife cruelly, “you made sure that he was all alone, that he had no one to turn to after he suddenly learned that his mother had not been as faithful to his father as she should have been and had coupled with a _demon_ of all beings. And not just any demon, but the same demon that had slaughtered Dementors in front of him, whom had murdered Umbridge, whom threatened all his friends by just being there. And, when he was down and depressed because not only had his best friends – the very people he had believed with be there for him – abandoned him, the last relatives and the last bit of normality he had left had been cruelly taken away from him.”

A dark smirk appeared on his face and Ron quickly averted his eyes again. He felt sick to his stomach and what little he could see from Hermione he was sure that she felt the same way.

“I’m sure that dear, dear Harry is more than aware just whom murdered said relatives and why,” he continued darkly amused, “contrary to what you seemed to have believed he is far from stupid.”  
Hermione trembled against him at those words and he felt his own guilt intensify. They had both utterly believed that Harry had not been aware what a demon was capable of. Now it seemed as if he had been the only one who might have been fully aware of what a demon could do.

“But even after all that, he kept fighting against both me and his _father_ ,” You-Know-Who stated flatly, “he didn’t break or bow down. Not until a certain Sirius Black wrote one single letter to him. A letter in which he stated that after everything he had heard from the two of you he couldn’t accept a child who was suddenly not only _not_ the child of his best friend but also the spawn of a demon and according to you two linked to _me_.”  
He fell silent for a bit but neither of them were capable of looking anywhere but at the ground, both too horrified and too shocked to react.

“He still kept fighting after that,” the man told them indifferently as he turned to study his apprentice, “but he had nothing left to fight for. Everything and everyone had been taken away from him – the last one being, of course, his dearly beloved owl – except his own morals but those had already been slightly different than those of normal people. Add the fact that he is a spawn and that it is in his very nature to want to hurt others and I hope you guess what can be concluded.”  
“He had no choice,” Hermione whispered even though there was no question she had to answer.  
“Exactly,” He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Names answered satisfied, “and I have the two of you to thank for that. Had you not abandoned him I would have died at the hands of that demon and he would have stayed firmly on your _light_ side. Dumbledore would have still been alive, as would have Snape and _he_ would have ended up married to some nice girl, had a couple of children, would have become an auror or a teacher until he finally had been too old to work before he would have died peacefully in his sleep.”

“But you did abandon him so he turned into what you see today and I’m still very much alive. So I guess I owe you,” he mused, “and since I owe you, I will let you live. Unharmed. I’ll let you live to see what your actions have done to not only the person you claimed was your best friend but also what your actions have done to the world around you.”

Their heads were suddenly forced upwards by heavy, oppressing magic until they both had no choice but to look him straight into his eyes. A dark smirk curled upon his lips.  
“I hope you enjoy this evening, and the rest of your lives,” he said as those horrible red eyes light up gleefully, “as I’m quite sure that one day soon Harry will want to repay you for _everything_ you have done for him.”

The oppressive magic disappeared as You-Know-Who nodded sharply at them, “Good night to you, mister Weasley, miss Granger.”  
And he and Malfoy Sr. turned on their heels to walk back towards their former best friend and his demonic father.

It was a testament of how shocked, horrified, despaired and guilty – and a range of other emotions he could never name or describe – they were that neither of them even stated that Hermione Granger had long since become Hermione Weasley née Granger.

They turned towards each other and he was quite sure that she could read the exact same emotions he could see in her eyes on his face.   
They had both screwed up, badly so, and they would pay the price eventually.


	5. On the Razor's edge

**On the Razor Edge**

**oOoOoOo**

He had changed with time, he knew that much. He could see it in the mirror every time he bothered to look into one. He could feel it in the heavy, and sometimes gleeful or fearful gazes thrown his way by the demon following him around, his _dedicated_ mentor Voldemort, the Death Eaters often surrounding them, the students and teachers living in Hogwarts, and the various other individuals he met or saw every time he ventured outside of Hogwarts. He could hear it with every whisper spoken behind his back, every harsh hiss silenced by his sudden presence, and every mournful hint towards the Potters.

Yes, he had changed and if he had been able to, he would have doubted that the changes were an overall good thing.

He didn’t particularly care about the exterior changes. He had never bothered with his appearance, he had left that to the antics of the damn creature still bothering him with his sheer presence and the effect said presence had had on his life. What did it matter that his grass green eyes had dulled to the colour of copper that was starting to oxidize? Why should he care that his dark, fly-away hair no longer had the appearance of a bird’s nest? What importance had finely made clothing in the colours that showed of how rich he was and that flattered him the most and brought out the natural  green in his eyes?

He couldn’t bother with minding the fact that he had no idea how much time had went by. What did it matter how old he was? Age was just a number after all. And not one that was particularly important, at that. He did briefly wonder how much time had passed by since he had last seen the persons that had been his best friends, once upon a time. How long had it been since the reunion when he had caught glimpses of them - Hermione radiant in a soft pink dress that had reminded him of their fourth year and Ron in an outfit that suited him better than all the cloths he had ever worn when they had been friends – weeks? Months? Years? He couldn’t remember. And he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had set himself a task and he would reach his goal. Time didn’t matter in the long haul.

He also didn’t particularly care about the changes in the magic he preferred to use. Purely light spells wouldn’t help him take down _both_ Voldemort and the blasted demon as Snape had showed him just before his painful demise – the fact that he hadn’t been able to see said demise did not mean that he hadn’t been able to _hear_ it. And, though he still drew the line by actively hurting someone needlessly – be it by means of torture or by torturing someone close to another person – he no longer hesitated in lashing out with the intention to hurt if someone attacked him _with the intention to hurt him_ whereas before he had preferred to just defend until he could disarm or stun his opponent. Survival of the fittest was the key to bring down his opponents, after all.

No, the changes that bothered him the most – though ‘bother’ was such a heavy term to use – was the fact that most of his emotions seemed to have _dulled_. Situations which would have made his temper explode out of him before, just annoyed him now. His grief at the loss of his owl and the betrayal of his friends and chosen family had dulled towards a lingering sadness, his fondness for flying had dulled a very muted version of contentment, his annoyance at the continued presence of the demon had disappeared to make way to nearly nothing, and his hatred for Voldemort had made way for just a lingering feeling of distaste.

The only feeling that he had managed to hang onto was his sheer determination to take both his demonic _father_ and the murderer of his _parents_ down with him, consequences to his own life be damned. Most likely in the most literal sense of the word.

He had seen the speculating looks on the demon’s face, the one’s that stated that something was not quite going as he had planned, but he didn’t particularly care. He had one goal left, one reason to live and he would reach that goal no matter what.

And though he had searched for books discussing demons – Voldemort had been surprisingly helpful with that – he had only managed to find that said dulling of emotions was in fact not related to the possibility he had to become a demon. He had stopped caring after that.

He had never seen things more clearly and he no longer cared about how that had happened.

**oOoOoOo**

Something had gone wrong with his plans for the brat. Or maybe something had gone terribly right, it really depended on which plans. He could understand from both the demon’s malicious remarks meant to anger his own spawn and the boy’s sudden decline in overall power – it was slight, and only noticeable in the normally emotion-fuelled spells, charms and curses – that the young man’s current lack of strong emotions was not, in fact, normal behaviour for a spawn. Nor was it normal for the child that had once fought back against him with a defiant gleam in with hatred and fear flashing bright green eyes.

He tsk’ed loudly in annoyance as his appointed heir moved lazily out of the way of incoming curses and returned the spells sent towards him half hardly. The boy ignored him – no real surprise there – but he noticed that some of the Death Eaters he had ordered to duel the child cringed slightly at the clear display of his displeasure. He _had_ trained the boy well, he noticed with some muted pride as he shot of a particularly difficult and nasty curse towards one of his followers while flinching to the right to avoid one shot at his side. The brat was powerful, he was determined, and he learned quickly if he truly wanted to know something. He could know, the boy had all but _choked_ on the amount of information he had tried to absorb about demons and how to _obliterate_ them. It was a shame he hadn’t.

But it was as if his will had left when his emotions had. The spells he fired towards his opponents were still powerful enough to put the Death Eater he had fired them at out of commission for at least a couple of days, but the curses he had used could have been deadly. Should have been deadly, even. But the brat’s heart was not into it.

On the one hand, it made it easier to just kill the boy. In fact, bar the time before he had known that the brat was the spawn of a demon, he had never been more tempted to just sever the ungrateful brat’s head from his body. On the other hand, it threw a cinch into the plans he had for the young man he had trained to become his heir. But no one could use a broken heir that just went through the motions.

He easily ignored the flashy spell-fire in front of him as he turned his head towards the only thing stopping him from actually murdering the Boy-Who-Lived right here, right this moment: the demon who had sired the child. The unremarkable, amber-red eyes were narrowed slightly into a half-lidded look of boredom but he did not have to look too hard to notice the calculating and somewhat obsessive gaze trained firmly on the brat. Not for the first time did he wonder what the male’s plans actually were.

His current goal was quite clear: for his spawn to become a demon like him. But his actual plans? And how did _he_ feature in said plans? He had no doubts that his survival was _not_ part of the insufferable being’s plans. He had been able to deduce that much from the male’s words to him. And that had been just _one_ of the reasons why he had opted to help the brat in an attempt to commit patricide.

If only he could find a way to make sure that whatever the demon was planning had no influence on him. He narrowed his eyes in thought as he considered his options. The best way to currently insure his own continued existence was to be useful to the demon, something he disliked greatly. But what if he were to use the connection he had to the child? He wondered not for the first time if it would be possible turn the connection caused by the horcrux – he had found out about that little piece of information when he had attempted to teach the young man Occlumency – into something similar to the bond a demon had with his or her victim, only without the danger to his own soul. He would have to research it, and once again change the plans he had made so far.

He turned his attention back to _his_ brat of an heir. The boy had managed to take out the other Death Eaters while he had sunk into his own thoughts and he was now healing the slight wounds he had managed to obtain. He was quite sure that said healing had nothing to do with the fact that the wounds annoyed him, or that he disliked the cicatrix he would obtain if he left the wounds to heal on their own, and everything with the way the demon would fuss over him if he didn’t.

He rose from the chair he had been using during the brat’s training.  
“Attend me,” he intoned flatly as he made his way out of the room. He didn’t bother to notice if the boy – and therefore the demon – followed after him. He knew he would. It was time to solve this problem.

**oOo**

“This cannot go on,” he snarled darkly not two days later as his eyes flashed with agitation. The brat had just left his office to study the books he had handed him – a rare tome about demons in the Uruk-period, two advanced tomes about magic meant to destroy magical beings, and a newer book about soul-magic – but the demon had opted to stay behind. He glared darkly at the book discussing soul magic now held limply in his left hand, blaming it and its useless content for his agitated mood.

“For once, I agree,” the demon stated from his preferred location in the shadows. His eyes gleamed the bright, unholy red they always did when he didn’t bother to appear human.  
“He is closing himself off completely,” he continued as he tapped his gloved finger against his upper lip in mock-thought, “this can be caused by two things. The first would be that his _upbringing_ has caused him to become psychopathological. A sociopath, if you will.”  
“That would make him useless,” he commented as he leaned back into his chair and his hand came to lightly scratch the head of his Nagini with elongated, yellowed nails, “but I highly doubt that the brat has it in him to become a _sociopath_.”

The demon didn’t rise to his taunts, but his arm lowered back into the shadows and his eyes flashed dangerously, “ the second possibility is that the loss of his _beloved_ owl was the – what is that delightful proverb again? Ah yes – the straw that broke the camel’s back.”  
The creature’s eyes glowed brightly with sadistic pleasure, “it is likely that the loss of his owl combined with the betrayal of his friends and family – among others, his _mother_ – was too much.”

He couldn’t help but smirk at the memory of the absolutely broken look in the brat’s eyes at the loss of his owl. Though Lucius had complained rather strongly about the damage his heir had done to his beloved son, or the Malfoy-version of complaining – something which the man had been punished for – the sheer horror the boy had had after he had realised that he had permanently _maimed_ his Slytherin classmates had been glorious and something he would savour for the rest of his _definite_ immortal life. His own red eyes gleamed with pleasure at the thought of seeing both the damage the child could do to others and the emotions those eyes would no doubt show off after the young man had _murdered_ his own former friends, something which he hoped would happen soon. Preferably _before_ the boy had matured fully into a full-fletched demon.

He turned his attention back to the demon – though his attention had never fully left the back-stabbing being – even as he removed his hand from his familiar’s head and twirled his wand absent-minded around in his now free hand. The book was still too valuable to drop without a very good reason.

“And how did that lead to our current situation?” He asked lightly, though his eyes no doubt showed the _annoyance_ he felt.  
“Humans have this _fascinating_ ability to lock away everything – trauma’s, emotions, memories, impressions – that makes it impossible for them to function until a time they are ready to deal with them,” the demon said even as a dark, teeth-filled smirk formed and his eyes twinkled maliciously. It sounded as if he was speaking from experience.   
“At least, as long as they have a purpose. A goal; something to live for. And I’m quite sure you know what my little demon is trying to do.”

He felt an answering smirk form around his own mouth and he had no doubt that his eyes held the same malicious look.   
“Ah yes, his attempt to take us both down at the same time,” he stated with dark amusement. The brat wasn’t as inconspicuous as he believed himself to be. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

He forced the amusement away again, as the emotion was just a distraction from their true conversation, “and if we were to take away said purpose?”  
The demon bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty grin, “he would see the world burn and himself fall before he would let go of his determination.”

He tapped his wand lightly against his lower, nearly non-existing lip as a silence fell as he considered the words and turned them around in his own mind. Unlike the young man’s sire, the boy was rather easy to read. His emotions used to give him away before, and even if that was no longer a tell he still knew how the a human’s mind _worked_ on a basic level. Anyone in his position most likely wanted to get rid of both of them; the demon because he had let to changes in his life and him because he had killed his parents. Or at least his mother.

But what if those reasons were not _the_ reasons why the younger male wanted to get rid of them? In fact, he sincerely doubted that that were the reasons at all. Because if that had been the case, the boy would have matured far faster. Hatred, revenge and anger were after all emotions and characteristics that demons were well-known for. So if it was not for revenge, than why fight?

The child had nothing and no-one left. He had nothing left to loose. No-one to care for _him_ as a person. He frowned darkly in confusion as he realised that those despicable muggles had never cared for him either, but the boy had never lashed out towards them. In fact, he had lashed out towards _him_ after he had them killed.

“He wants to protect his former friends and family,” he said slowly as it clicked, his wand lowered to rest on his lap, “his purpose is not revenge, it is to take that what he deems as a threat out of the equation.”  
His eyes sharpened and he looked in the predatory eyes of the demon.  
“His eyes turned such a lovely shade of red when I _threatened_ his little girl friend,” the creature said with a smirk that bared its sharp teeth, his intonation once again darkly amused.

“It seems as if I can thank them appropriately, after all,” he stated lightly, a cruel light in his eyes which was clearly mirrored in the orbs of the being still lingering in the shadows, “and I do so hate owing anyone!”

**oOoOoOo**

Even in his near-emotionless state did he know that something was _wrong_. It was in the way  Voldemort’s eyes gained a darkly satisfied, nearly unholy gleam every time the latter’s gaze fell upon him. It was in the way the demon had stopped looking at him as if he were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. And it was most definitely in the way they had started pressing him to work harder, to react faster. Their words were far more cruel than they had ever been, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before.

It was no longer odd to see formerly _dead people_ walking around the house, one at the time and never together; so far Lily and James Potter, Severus Snape, the Dursleys and even Dumbledore had shown up. Their eyes would be hard, predatory and cruel or soft and caring, their mouths twisted into snarls and spewing hateful words or into soft smiles and cooing endearments, their hands would be formed into claws that tried to maim him or soft and gentle as they tried to comb through his hair far too roughly.

But it was the often clear, dark amusement that gave them always away. Dead people stayed just that, after all. Dead. And he had read in one of the books Voldemort had provided him with that demons were far from being above using the forms of dead loved ones or acquaintances to twist an already present knife. It wasn’t that hard to connect the dots. Especially because the dead people were never around when the demon was and the other way around.

But he just couldn’t figure out _why_ the creature had taken on the form of dead loved ones – or not so loved ones in the case of the majority. What goal did he have in mind?

Not that he particularly cared. Sure, it was slightly inconvenient to have at least half of the dead people walk around as the Death Eaters had frozen the first couple of time, only to send some pretty nasty curses towards whatever dead person – or unknown person in case of the Dursleys – showed up the rest of the time. Seeing his parents, however, was painful. He had never known them, didn’t even miss them, really. But to have them flaunted in front of him when he knew that they weren’t real; that they would never be real, and that he would never know who they were, or how they acted? Yes, that hurt enough to penetrate through his otherwise dispassionate state of being.

Not enough that his emotion returned to him fully, but enough that it left him feeling slightly askew.

**oOo**

The demon stopped taking the shape of others after a couple of weeks and it didn’t take long for him to forget about the creature’s antics during that period. But he couldn’t quite forget – or supress – everything and the slight feeling that something was _wrong_ stayed with him.

So he forced himself to work even harder to reach his goals, to learn more, to become faster and better and to keep going until he nearly collapsed at the end of the day. Only to do the exact same thing the very next day. And though the sheer exhaustion he felt became worse each day, it helped him supress the emotions that had resurfaced when faced with his dead loved ones. It also made it easier to ignore the glints of satisfaction and pleasure that appeared in the eyes of both Voldemort and the demon.

It wouldn’t take long now. He was sure of it. And soon, soon he would either achieve his goal, or die trying.

Soon.

**oOoOoOo**

It was finally time. Everything was ready for the final fall of the curtain.

The boy’s former friends and family had been captured and were held inside the dungeons. His Death Eaters had been trained until they could work together like a well-oiled modern car or could take out an above average duellist on their own. And the boy was finally too exhausted to keep his emotions at bay.

He would win, and the world would be his.


	6. Hitting Rock Bottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything you might recognise.  
> Warnings: Blood, death, gore, murder, and the likes.

**To be, or not to be: Hitting Rock Bottom**

**oOoOoOo**

_ Present _

There was blood and body pieces everywhere. Empty, dead eyes looked up blankly at their blood-spattered surroundings. The once elegant stone walls were scorched with spell fire and riddled with holes. The expensive marble floor was invisible underneath the gore. The ceiling was partly missing, and the sky above was black with murders upon murders of crows and jackdaws.

He was the only one left standing; the rest of the survivors had long since fled. And he couldn’t help but wonder. How had it all come to this?

**oOoOoOo**

_ A couple of hours before present _

He made his way briskly over towards the sumptuous throne room his grudging, megalomaniac of a master was currently residing in. Both he _and_ the creature following him everywhere had been _summoned_.

Had he been summoned a handful of years ago, he would have been both curious and apprehensive. Had he been summoned just a couple of weeks ago, he would have been uncaring and maybe mildly annoyed. As it was, he had been summoned as he was now and he couldn’t help that all he felt was a bone-deep tiredness. He was tired of the fact that his emotions were fluctuating all over the place. He was tired of the fact that he was the puppet of a dark lord and a demon. He was tired of all the different games that were played around him and with which he had to keep up. But mostly, he was just plain tired.

He ignored the open doors that that made way to the throne room. He ignored the present Death Eaters standing neatly in rows upon rows just as easily. He just kept walking until he was in front of a seated Voldemort, the demon closely on his heels.

“Welcome, my heir,” Voldemort stated sibilantly, clearly pleased with himself. It was enough of a clue for him to know that he was not going to enjoy whatever the snake-like male had planned for him.  
He gestured to his right side in a clear sign for him to come stand next to him. He easily obeyed the silent command. This was far from the first time he was called into a Death Eater meeting, and it was far from the first time he was expected to stand in his rightful side as Voldemort’s apprentice and heir.

Voldemort rose fluidly from the throne he had been lounging on and stepped forward to address the present Death Eaters.

“Welcome, my friends,” he started, is arms wide as if he wanted to embrace them all “all of you have worked very hard in the last couple of weeks and I am pleased with the result.”  
The Death Eaters bowed as one to show their gratefulness.  
“Your hard work shall be rewarded,” he continued, “some of your numbers have had orders to capture some of our enemies and former members of Dumbledore’s Order.”

He had a very bad feeling about where this was going. He knew that he hadn’t been subtle at all in his intend to end the lives of both his _mentor_ and his _father_. He was also aware that they had been far from happy with his state of mind. He just hadn’t considered that Voldemort would use this opportunity to capture, maim and possibly kill people he cared about.

The commotion of people being dragged in front of Voldemort – and subsequently him – brought him out if his thoughts. Spells and chains forced them to kneel in front of them.

It wasn’t hard to recognise Hermione, the Weasleys, Neville, Luna, Sirius, Remus and most of the others. They appeared older than the last time he had seen them – either during the reunion or during his last year at Hogwarts – and they appeared far more worn out. Their clothing, hair and skin was grimy. Their eyes were sunken and had dark smudges around them. They appeared hurt, but not badly.

He closed his eyes briefly as he sincerely hoped that they stayed that way. He had honestly no idea what would happen to anyone present if one of the Death Eaters were to hurt those he had tried to protect for so long.  
But he also had no doubt about why they were here.

“It has been a long time since most of you had the opportunity to _play_ ,” Voldemort stated with dark satisfaction as he looked down upon his captured former friends and family, “and it has been just as long since _someone_ has been brave enough to try and rebel against us.”  
The Death Eaters shifted en masse at the very idea of people rebelling against them. Or was that at the opportunity to hurt others? One could never know for sure with some of the individuals in Voldemort’s army.

He tuned Voldemort out – just as he had done some many times before – in favour of studying his former friends. Remus looked older and more haggard than ever. Sirius looked more healthy, but even he seemed to have been dealt some heavy blows in the years since he had last seen him.

He was about to focus on his former best friends when some of the Death Eaters moved forward and grabbed hairs of some of the former Order members and dragged them closer towards the dais he was standing on, though not a single one of his friends or family was taken. It was around that time that he realised that Voldemort had once again seated himself in his throne.

He recognised Shacklebolt, and he vaguely recognised two of the witches but he didn’t know their names. He didn’t recognise the other four, but he had no doubt that they recognised him.  
The moment one of the unknown wizards’ eyes fell on him, he started begging for help.

“Please Potter, help us,” he begged hoarsely as he was forced before the dark lord, “you can defeat him. You can free us!”  
“Dumbledore said you are the only one who can,” one of the witches he did recognise added brokenly, “but you joined him.”  
“You can still come back to us,” one of the other unknown wizards – a very young one – pleaded, “we can help you!”

He felt sharp, hateful anger at their assumptions flow through him. Even after they had turned on him, even after they had discarded him and spit on him they still assumed he would help them?  
He was very much willing to deal with Voldemort. But not for these witches or wizards. He would only do it to keep those behind them save.

Loud, cruel laughter rose from the ranks of the Death Eaters at the continued pleading, and even Voldemort joined in with sibilant, hissed chuckles.

“Yes, Harry, why don’t you help them?” Voldemort asked him gleeful as the seven finally fell silent, “it is your duty, after all!”  
He ignored them all as he forced his anger deeply behind his occlumency shields and his face carefully blank.

He kept ignoring them, even as Voldemort permitted – _ordered_ – Death Eaters to torture seven people that had once been his allies. And he kept his face blank even as pieces of what had once been human splattered everywhere when one of the Death Eaters became a bit too enthusiastic.

He stayed just as blank when the seven had died and the next, smaller group was dragged forward. And he stayed blank as the group after that was dragged forward.

He did react slightly when the fourth group contained Cho Chang. He used to have a crush on her, he remembered that much, but it was not enough for him to truly react beyond a slight pain that shot through his heart. A pain that quickly fuelled the anger inside of him as he remembered the way she had proclaimed to love him one day, and suddenly abhorred him the next.

But he truly reacted when Hermione was dragged in front of him to be tortured. While she had been the first of his two best friends to reject him, she had also been the most loyal of the two before that.  
Before he even realised it, he had stepped forward and cursed the Death Eater that had grabbed her hair.

Silence fell as the screams of one of their own sounded through the large, open hall. He held the curse, even as several Death Eaters pointed their wands towards him.  
It was only the sound of clapping coming from slightly behind him that made him lower his wand.

“I was wondering what would finally make you act,” Voldemort stated with a cruel smile around his lipless mouth, “it seems we found it after all.”  
He stood from his throne and stepped forwards until he was standing right next to him.  
“I’ll make you a deal, one I’m sure you will not refuse,” he told him softly, but it could easily be heard by all present, “I’ll let your remaining friends go, _if_ you can free them.”

He didn’t respond, he just studied the snake-like being’s expression from the corner of his eyes. The silence became oppressive as he didn’t respond. He didn’t _trust_ Voldemort. It had to be a trap of some kind.

“If you don’t want to take my deal,” his _master_ stated with a serpentine shrug, “Rabastan.”  
One of the Death Eaters moved forward and shot a spell towards Hermione. One he was fairly familiar with and one he knew would kill her slowly and painfully.

He did not know how he did it but he was standing in front of her with his wand out and a shield ready to reflect the curse before he had realised it.  
“So you do take the deal,” the dark lord stated pleased, “marvellous!”

The Death Eaters moved forward eagerly, as if they had been waiting for that moment. And as far as he knew, they had.  
“The rules of this deal are simple,” Voldemort continued from where he was once again seated, “I’ll let your friends go, if you can free them by defeating all of my Death Eaters. If you lose, I’ll kill them all slowly while making you watch.”  
He whirled around to glare at both males on the dais. The demon looked just as amused as Voldemort, and both clearly showed their anticipation.

“So be it,” he snarled back, more for show than from anger. He had hidden his anger deeply behind his shields and it would stay there.

He whirled back around and threw a spell he had found recently towards the Death Eaters in front of him, easily killing at least half a dozen of them.

And that was how it started.

**oOoOoOo**

He marvelled at the power he could feel swirling around his little demon. The bodies and human remains of the amusing human’s little minions were painting the room with gore and the smell of death clung to everything.

His little demon had realised pretty quickly that he not only had to deal with the Death Eaters, but he also had to keep his friends safe. At least, he had realised it _after_ one of the Death Eaters had exploded one of his former friends. The look of astonishment on his child’s face had been gorgeous. As had the sheer rage been that had followed after it.

The little demon was getting more desperate as more and more of his friends fell and he himself became more weary and his magic nearly exhausted. He couldn’t help the sinister, amused chuckle that escaped him at the sheer stupidity of his child’s former friends. Why they just didn’t pick up one of the wands of the fallen minions he would never know. Must be the remains that coated them.

A soft snap of wood and an almost demonic snarl focused his attention back onto his little demon. It appeared as if some Death Eater had managed to snap the boy’s wand, leaving the child seemingly unarmed.

He chuckled louder, though only Voldemort heard it. A demon was never unarmed or powerless, not even one that was only half a demon and nearly ready to ascend if the gorgeous red eyes were any indication. The child would have no choice but to embrace his heritage if he wanted to free his _dearly beloved_.

It was always so nice to see a plan come together.

**oOoOoOo**

Ron couldn’t help but cower as an inhuman snarl sounded from the person who had once been his best friend. Harry’s eyes had started to glow red some time ago, but they had turned the same freakishly red as the demon that had always followed him around the moment one of the Death Eaters attacking him had snapped the wand Harry had been using.

Harry seemed far more angry than he had ever seen him before, and that was saying something as he had been legendary for his quick and volatile temper. But he also seemed desperate. It was clear even to him that he was tired and near magicless. Which came as no surprise with the amount of magic he had been throwing around.

He couldn’t see all of his family, but he _was_ aware that at least Charlie, Percy and his father hadn’t survived. Fred was still alive as far as he could see, but he was wounded and he didn’t know how badly. George was trying to make his way towards him but the amount of spells that still flew around and the dead bodies made it nearly impossible.  
His own beloved wife, his Hermione, was still alive and relatively unharmed. As were Ginny, Remus and Luna as far as he could see. He couldn’t see or recognise the rest.

It seemed as if Harry had a better view than he had, as he became more desperate with every spell that seemed to come near or hit someone he had once cared about. And it was that exact moment that Ron realised just how badly he had treated his once best friend. Even now – decades after they had betrayed him – Harry was still fighting for their lives without considering his own.

And he could see that he was hurt. His left side was bleeding steadily, his right leg had a deep scratch that oozed some kind of black substance, and he had a nasty head wound that caused blood to obscure the sight in his right eye. But still he kept on fighting.

His nails had lengthened into claws and he was literally ripping Death Eaters apart. His teeth had turned into fangs that easily bit through flesh, veins and bone. His skin seemed to have darkened and most spells no longer seemed to deter him.

And he was no longer alone. The raven – or was that large crow? – that had replaced Hedwig had appeared with a small group of small, youngish crows or large jackdaws. And the black birds were eagerly joining into the fray by scratching at hands that held wands, by picking at eyes behind masks and just plain flying into spells.

He ducked towards the side as a spell nearly hit him – his escape was aided by what appeared to be blood, but he was not eager to see if he was correct – and he hid behind a small pile of human remains. His new spot gave him a nearly clear view of Voldemort. The snake-like male’s face was contorted into a grimace of hatred and he felt vicious pleasure shoot through him. He had no doubt that the murderer had believed that Harry would have been defeated some time ago.

Harry could always be counted on to foil the damn snake-faced bastard’s plans spectacular.

**oOoOoOo**

He had managed to get his hands on a wand that felt as if it would work fairly well and wasn’t too bloody to slip out of his hands as soon as he tried to cast something.

He had watched on in astonishment as the man he had once held as a small baby of a couple of days old defeated Death Eater after Death Eater in such a way he had never seen before. Not even Albus Dumbledore would have been capable of doing that.  
It also showed just how _dark_ his former, now disowned godson had become. Not a single one of those Death Eaters survived.

The once beautiful green eyes – so similar to his mother’s – had turned first red, and not long after a bright, hellish crimson with the same split pupils as the demon had. He had of course believed Hermione all those years ago when she had told him that James hadn’t fathered Harry, but he had been far more upset with the fact that Harry had joined Voldemort. But now he could truly see the truth behind the statement with his own eyes.

He shook his head forcefully as an arm, followed by a dead bird dropped down next to him. It was no use thinking about the past, the only way to stop whatever was going on was to take out Voldemort.  
And conveniently, the old snake was nicely distracted by his own heir killing his own followers by hand. Or was that by nail, teeth and crow?

He stealthily made his way over towards the dais and he fired the first spell that could take out Voldemort easily that popped up into his mind. He watched in anticipation as the spell came closer and closer towards its target, only to gulp audibly as his spell was not only batted away like it was nothing but he was suddenly pinned down by two pair of red eyes. One pair – a reddish amber – only looked towards him in amusement and proud satisfaction before they turned towards the carnage the owner’s spawn was creating. The other pair – a malicious red – however, pinned him down harshly before their owner shot a spell right back at him. A spell that wouldn’t kill him directly, but would make him die a horrible, slow death that would take days.

A loud ‘no’, sounded from somewhere behind him and a dark form was suddenly between him and the spell. His eyes briefly connected with crazed crimson eyes filled with despair and bloodlust, before they disappeared as Harry launched himself towards Voldemort with a dark, almost hungry growl.

But before the blood covered claws could reach their intended target, another set of hands – these covered by neat white gloves – grabbed him by scruff of his neck until he was dangling in front of the older demon like a kitten in the mouth of its mother.

A loud tsk sounded through the spells called out, the screams and the shouts. It was loud enough to make everyone cease fighting and to turn the attention of those still conscious and not too badly hurt towards the dais.  
Silence fell, one that was only broken by the groans of those hurt and the loud panting of the fighters.

“Look at what you did to yourself,” the older of the two demons tutted like a demented mother hen, but he also sounded incredibly pleased and as proud as any parent would after their child had done something they had wanted them to do, “your cloths are beyond repair and there is blood everywhere.”  
He poked rather harshly into the wound in Harry’s side which gained him a snarl and a swipe of sharp claws he easily dodged. He visibly tightened his hold on his neck as the former man tried to twist out of the demon’s grasp.

“And you hurt yourself,” he continued as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. As if he wasn’t holding an only slightly shorter male up like a kitten. As if his own demonic, crimson eyes didn’t light up at the sight of his former godson covered in blood, guts, pieces of skin and bone and other human remains.

The soft sound of bare feet on bloody stone echoed through the room as Voldemort stood and walked forward until he stood next to the pair of demons.  
“It seems as if my heir didn’t finish his side of the deal,” Voldemort stated dryly, but everyone present could see the satisfaction fighting with the annoyance of having lost at least over half of his army. It disgusted him, but there was nothing he could do about it.  
“Kill the survivors,” he ordered almost pleasantly.

Sirius stiffened as wands were suddenly pointed towards him and every other survivor. He still had the wand he had used before to fire a curse towards Voldemort, but he had no doubt that he wouldn’t leave the large hall alive.

**oOoOoOo**

He watched with half lidded eyes as wands were raised towards those he had tried so hard to protect. There was nothing he could do. He was tired, his magic was nearly depleted, his wand was broken and the pieces were lost between the mixed remains of Death Eaters and his former friends and family, he was so very hungry and the hold on the back of his neck was too strong to break. Or was he too weak to break it?

And he could no longer bring himself to care. The desperation, the anger, the hatred, the pain, every emotion he had felt had dulled to make way for the bloodlust he had felt. And the bloodlust had disappeared as soon as the creature always following him around had caught him like a disobedient puppy.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the pleasant lilt of the voice of the damned being behind him sounded. It held tones he had never heard before, but he was too out of it to wonder what that meant for him. He snarled as he was carried towards the empty throne where he was placed into gently.

“And why wouldn’t I?” the sibilant tones of Voldemort sounded from his right. The dark lord had followed the demon and he could clearly see the look of annoyance that crossed the snake-like features as he was lowered into _his_ throne. He had no doubt that the amusement that he felt could be seen on his bloodied face as Voldemort started to sneer as their eyes met.

Oddly enough, their eyes only met briefly before Voldemort turned away from him and towards the creature always following him around. The demon had lowered himself on his knee in front of him and had carefully started to remove pieces of clothing that obscured the wounds he had gained.  
“Because someone has to be fed to the newly born demon,” the damned being stated with dark amusement that he couldn’t help but echo, before he lowered his mouth towards the still black-poison oozing wound on his leg and started to lick it clean.

He paid the action no attention, not even considering the fact that he would have complained rather loudly had the demon done this just hours before. He closed his eyes tiredly and relaxed back into the chair.

Something inside himself told him that he was safe. That nothing would hurt him. That, besides the creature currently licking his wounds clean, he was the top predator in the room. And that, even though the other top predator was older and had more experience, he was no threat to him as they were _kin_.

He was too tired to realise just what that meant.

He ignored the ruckus that had started once again at the words of the older demon. He ignored the kitty-like licks the tongue washing and healing his wounds – currently the one in his side. And he ignored the snarls coming from Voldemort.

He was only barely aware that his wounds had healed and that the tongue, and its owner, had retreated away from him.

“Leave his direct friends and family alive,” the words reached his ears but they didn’t register, “my little demon will decide what he wants to do with them once he has had time to recuperate and after he has gotten used to his new existence. I will deal with some of the rest.”  
A sibilant snarl reached his ears, followed by the sharply barked command to take ‘them’ away.

He snarled softly – a deep, inhuman sound – as horrified screams and cries of denial reached his now sensitive ears. But he didn’t bother to pay to rouse himself at the sounds. He was weary, and hungry and he felt off. He just wanted to rest.

He didn’t pay attention to the soft clicking of heels on stone as they neared him. He did, however, pay attention to the lips suddenly pressed against his, the tongue that forced his mouth open, and the odd orbs that were deposited inside his mouth one after another. Every orb that hit his tongue tasted differently, but most tasted too bland or too sweet for his taste.

He whined lightly as the mouth feeding him retreated and he opened his eyes, only to be met with familiar glowing, demonic eyes which shone with an unfamiliar light.  
“Hush, child,” the creature cooed at him, “rest now. You can eat again later.”

With another whine, he once again closed his eyes and let himself fall into a relaxed sleep. Even though something inside of him told him not to trust the other top predator, the larger part told him that he was safe and to regain his strength. And so he slept.

**oOoOoOo**

It was disturbing to see the demon coo over his spawn like some demented pigeon, though it had nothing on the near incestuous vibes he had gotten from the demon when he had _kissed_ the brat. He was aware that the creature had just fed the smaller demon – the very idea that he had reached his goal was both a reason to celebrate and a reason to mourn the fact that he hadn’t killed the child before he could have slaughtered over half his army – but the very gesture of kissing its victims or his own spawn to feed was disturbing, even to him.

He watched on as the demon lifted the newly created younger demon from _his_ throne and made his way out of the destroyed room.

A hissed out command from him caused the still alive members of his army to kill the still remaining prisoners, before they helped their wounded of the ground. Those who were still capable of the action bowed towards them, and they all left.

He was left alone in a once beautiful room.

There was blood and body pieces everywhere. Empty, dead eyes looked up blankly at their blood-spattered surroundings. The once elegant stone walls were scorched with spell fire and riddled with holes. The expensive marble floor was invisible underneath the gore. The ceiling was partly missing, and the sky above was black with murders upon murders of crows and jackdaws.

He had won, but his victory felt hollow.


	7. Chapter 7: Human (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: not mine  
> Warnings:... Nothing too bad, the rest would give away the chapter.

**Human (Epilogue)**

**oOoOoOo**

“He has been _asking_ for you,” the voice of his sire came from behind him. He just shrugged in response, even as he softly stroked Roäc’s feathers. He had been lounging lazily on top of a very high building enjoying the view over a large city he couldn’t remember the name of. Not that he cared for the city, he just enjoyed the sight in front of him. He enjoyed the slight wind in his hair. He enjoyed the large amount of truly delicious souls he could eat without having to try very hard to find something. But most of all, he enjoyed the feeling of true freedom. He was no longer bound to the earth as he had been when he had just been another weak, wingless, pathetic, mortal, human being.

“He procured some very nice souls for you,” the older demon continued with a dark purr in his tone, “very rich, almost like a fine red wine or dark chocolate. I believe you shall enjoy them immensely.”  
“What does he want now?” he asked with faint amusement even as he turned around to meet his sire’s amber-reddish eyes, “I already left him alive all those years ago – granting him near immortality at that – and did not kill the rest of his army or those of his followers he sent after me.”

Both of them had not changed at all. The older demon was still dressed in his neat butler suit and he still took care of his every need, even though he was no longer a ‘little demon’, or human. Mostly, he still had his bad days during which his nearly lost humanity reared its annoying head.

He himself looked exactly the same as well. His clothes were still rich, and they were still according to the height of wizarding fashion. His eyes were still a vibrant green, though they did tend to turn the same hellish red as his sire’s every once in a while.

They were both also deemed extremely attractive in the eyes of their prey, something his sire had always been and something he had had to grow into.

“I believe he misses his master,” the amber-reddish eyes flashed a hellish red in wicked amusement. He could feel his own eyes do the same. Voldemort has miscalculated rather badly. The fact that a piece of his soul had made its way into his body during the attack on All Hallow’s Eve all those years ago had not turned him into a mindless, demonic slave forced to do his every bidding as soon as he had ascended. Nor had it been devoured as the older demon had expected.  Their souls had grown together too tightly for that.

The horcrux inside of him _had_ bound the two of them together as master and slave, but not the way Voldemort had expected. The demon hadn’t been bound to the human. No, the near-human had been bound firmly to the newly born demon.

He had wanted to kill the snake-like man after he had finally managed to regain his strength. But two things had stopped him. The first thing had been his sire. The older demon had pointed out that he could either kill Voldemort and be forced to eventually _devour_ those he had fought so hard for to defend. Or he could leave his new _slave_ alive and have him find those depraved or depressed enough that they tasted _good_. The second thing that had stopped him had actually been his own instincts. The man had become part of his murder. Granted, he was at the very bottom, but he was _his_. That, and he was amusing with his tantrums and his small acts of rebellion.

“Hm, I guess I could visit him,” he murmured dryly, “see what he has been up to since the last time I had to threaten him to behave.”  
That had been little over a decade ago, and it had been both beautifully gruesome and horrendously amusing.

His sire stalked closer until he was leaning against the same part of the structure he was lounging against – a chimney of some kind. His gloved hand fell down upon his head and he almost tenderly carded his hand through his hair. He nearly purred at the pleasant feeling that small show of affection brought him.

He had learned not long after he had matured that his sire’s behaviour towards him was considered odd by the rest of the demons. Demons were loners by nature, and they rarely had young. And if they had, they raised them just long enough until they could take care of themselves. They fed them and they defended them, but that was where their ‘care’ stopped.

His sire had been taking care for him far beyond that point, and he had done more for him than any ‘normal’ demon would ever consider. Even now, when he had been a nearly fully matured demon for decades. His sire still bathed him, still clothed him, still fed him, still healed his wounds when he got hurt, and he still provided him with entertainment when needed.

He just went with it. His lingering humanity – the piece of him that he had fought for so hard, and which had slotted nearly neatly with his new nature – demanded the company lest he become lonely.

But some days his humanity returned with full vengeance. Those days were rare, and became more rare with every decade he was alive. But they were there. And they were terrible for the young, broken, lonely, kind-hearted boy he had once been. Because that young, broken, lonely, kind-hearted boy would be confronted with every single thing he had done since before his change of species. He would be confronted with every single, thoughtless murder because someone had been in his way. With every single broken soul because of his entertainment. With every single friend he had killed because he had been hungry and they had been provided to him. With every being – human or otherwise – he had tortured to see what their reaction would be. With every unforgivable _sin_ – not those created by humanity as a whole, but those he had created for himself – he had ever committed.

One day, that young, broken, lonely, and kind-hearted boy would disappear fully. He would seize to exist completely. There was no question about _that_. And that day would come soon, he could feel it in his bones and the very depths of his soul.  
But. Would his former humanity take the _new_ him with him as he disappeared? He now knew multiple ways to end his own existence. It was not that hard actually. And he would not be the only one who would disappear if he were to seize to exist.

His end would also mean the end of Voldemort as they were bound so very firmly together. His end would also bring about the destruction of the demon currently still tenderly carding his hand through his hair as the being cared too much about him. It would not destroy him physically, but it would shatter him completely mentally.

_That_ knowledge was firmly rooted in the same part of him that also housed the remnants of his humanity. It was _that_ knowledge that would let him win the game the two males had started so very long ago. He could still win. It would be _the_ ultimate victory for his human self.

He would find out soon enough. For now, he had a dark lord turned slave to deal with. And a whole world he could play with.


End file.
